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Informer
I meet on a ledge
with two men hanged today.
We walk up and down.
The commissioners pay me
to be an informer on the dead
with my theater of clerks,
two mousetraps
and a rank-rot mouth.
Poems on the topic: hanging
Poems on the topic “hanging” on Poets.by.
Hangman
I am my work:
at noon, an ordinary hang.
We ate.
Like the liver I took
pleasure to see
draw to an end.
Hanging
Go and be hanged, we call
to a clerk, to a schoolmaster,
to two cows in the wood,
to God, to children, to the man
that hangs on Shooter’s Hill,
filthy flesh shrunk to his bones.
Describe a feeling — we’ll find a poem
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